


Silhouettes

by ThisBirdWithoutACage



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Newt Scamander, Bakery, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Secrets, Grindelwald is a jerk, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Percival Graves Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Protective Newt Scamander, Protective Original Percival Graves, Protective Queenie Goldstein, Protective Tina Goldstein, Sad Newt Scamander, Slow Burn, Workaholic Original Percival Graves, Writer does not know enough 1920s slang, newt needs a hug, that goes without saying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-02-13 21:25:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12992835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisBirdWithoutACage/pseuds/ThisBirdWithoutACage
Summary: Almost a year after Percival Graves was found and freed, yet he is still a prisoner of his own thoughts. He finds himself going through the motions of everyday life until Newt Scamander returns to America after the success of his book to work for MACUSA as their Magizoologist.Newt Scamander agrees to work for MACUSA holding secrets of his own. Secrets that could ruin his budding relationship with Graves.With the two of them working on an almost impossible case to solve, and the ever looming threat of Grindelwald, emotions are bound to collide.





	1. Lukewarm

**Author's Note:**

> So hey ya'll, I'm back with another fic! I know I should be working on The Prince's Curse, but I've been so unmotivated (and busy) to really even work on my stories. This semester of college has really kicked my ass. 
> 
> But, winter break is only a few days away! With only one test and a paper that needs turned in, I have a little time to give you the first chapter of my new story. I've actually been working on this all year, rewritten it several times, so I'm kinda pleased how the first chapter turned out. 
> 
> There's two other parts that go along with this story, but aren't relevant with the little information I've given you thus far >:)
> 
> So without further ado, enjoy!

Eyes could tell a lot about people’s personalities.

Percival would know; he’d spent years interrogating criminals and dark wizards of the sort. He knew the shifty eyed ones who refused to make eye contact. The eyes that blinked too much and he could even recall criminals whose eyes crossed when they were lying. Or he could tell when some of them (though rarely) were being honest. The way their gaze met his, steady and earnest, wanting to clear their name or get some of their punishment cleared off.

Eyes, the windows to the soul; they allowed him to read people and he’s very good at _reading_ people. Eyes, as he recalled, reflect everything.

He’d seen lots of eyes over the years, not all of them dishonest. All sorts of colors dance in the light. Warm brown eyes, firm yet gently caring. Sparkling blue eyes, loving and lively. Dark brown eyes, commanding and fierce. Green eyes, kind and eccentric. Life and wonder reflecting in those green orbs flecked with pristine blue.

He cleared his throat, thoughts of green eyes clearing from his mind. It was irritating, constantly thinking of _those_ eyes. Even more so when he knew exactly who they belonged to. It seemed they were determined to interrupt him of his work. Determined to have his full attention; to gaze at him with warmth and kindness that he didn’t see in a lot of people. He could count very few people in his life that had ever looked at him that way.

Like the way those eyes were looking at one Porpentina Goldstein.

He’d just stepped out of his office only briefly, to get started on his third cup of coffee when he noticed the two of them together, speaking about occamy eggshells or something of that sort. He’s not really listening to their conversation, at least, he’s trying to convince himself of that. Goldstein’s desk wasn’t far away from where they kept the coffee supplies, so it’s not like he  _couldn’t_ hear them. It’s just a matter he was trying to convince himself that he was not eavesdropping.

Which, he totally wasn’t.

“Do they start out as pure silver or does it develop?”

“They start out as pure silver. That’s why their nests are always ransacked. Or traffickers will kidnap a mated pair and keep them in mills.”

“Horrible!”

“I know, but there aren’t many. Occamys are hard to catch and extremely dangerous when threatened.”

All around him, all sorts of activity were going on; files being waved around, chatter and occasionally a laugh sounding from someone. Everyone looked busy, even Goldstein was typing up a report as Scamander chatted with her. From one side of the room, he heard Ashwood speaking urgently with Patel about something, more than likely a case. The two of them worked together well, Patel’s attention to detail and Ashwood’s down to earth personality balanced each other out. Especially with the major break through in one of their most impressive cases. This one involving almost the entire auror department.

There was a raid only two months ago, where they shut down a ring of wizards selling no-mag children to buyers in various parts of the world. Most got away, unfortunately, but they did manage to rescue most of the children, obliviating them and returning them back to the city. If he closed his eyes, he could still picture it now. A building full of rusted metal cages holding children, some no bigger than a three-year-old. They had cowered when he and the others entered after taking down all the traffickers, scrambling with bony limbs to the back of their prisons. They were absolutely terrified of them, whimpering and crying. The older ones begging to be left alone; the younger ones crying for their mothers. He had opened one cage door, a small girl with dirty blonde hair curled into a little ball. It was only when he pulled her into his arms that he realized she was dead.

Her name, as he found out later, was Dorothy Farwell. She was only two years old.

It was one of the more unpleasant part of their jobs. The Junior aurors were all warned of it, told that they would see things that would sicken most people. Yet, they were the same. They saw the worst of humanity; the worst things that wizards could do to each other and to the no-mag population, but they still felt it. He could see the rage on O’Malley’s face when he apprehended several of the traffickers. He saw the paleness of Anderson’s face; the protective way Patel cradled one small child in her arms.

They were battle hardened, he and the Senior Aurors, but not immune. The Junior Aurors, the new ones anyway, were immediately shell shocked. Completely unprepared for the sight before them. Weeks later, a few of them even resigned their positions. Did he blame them? No, no he did not.

The traffickers, from what he read from their reports, had no names yet. They didn’t even know if they were American, but they suspected they were part of the ring they broke down those two months ago. Picking up the pieces and trying to reestablish their “trade”. It’s disturbing, he’ll give it that. Ashwood and Patel had been working hard on this case, dedicating all their time to it. Patel had three children of her own; a reason to want these wizards put away for life or executed. Ashwood had neither, but he’d never known another auror with a stronger sense of right and wrong.  

Blinking quickly, he pulled himself out of his thoughts and back to the task at hand. The coffee pot in his hands, ready to be poured into the cup but nothing came out. The noise was gone, shuffling away into the back ground like some distant echo until it faded away completely. There was no wall with the pictures of fallen aurors in front of him, only emptiness. Black emptiness entrapping him; a void he couldn’t escape from. He could not move, unable to even feel the cup and pot in his hands. He could feel a trickle of sweat that ran down his neck, dripping to the floor with a loud plink.

Everything was cold. A bone chilling sort of cold that pierced right through him. No light; no warmth. Just a numb cold that engulfed his entire form. His ears picked up laughter and his stomach churned violently. He knew that laugh; he knew it better than anyone else in the whole world.

Grindelwald stood before him wearing a cruel smirk. With coldness in his eyes like a star burning far away in the night sky. Unfeeling. Callous to what he had been doing to those around him. “How are we today, Director Graves?” he asked, but it was more of a taunt really. “Director Graves-”

“Director Graves!”

It was like someone performed a Lumos spell and the darkness vanished. Silence descended on the room and he felt everyone’s eyes on him. He only then realized that the coffee had spilled from the pot, the glass slipping to the floor with an ear shattering crack. A flare of embarrassment made his stomach clench uneasily and he cleared his throat, using a bit of wandless magic to clean the mess up and repair the broken objects.  

“Carry on,” he ordered with a hoarse voice, and for a quick moment, no one moved until Tina cleared her throat. Her concerned eyes were not the only ones looking at him. Those blue eyes were fixated on him, unspoken worry in those dazzling orbs.

He inwardly groaned. He did not just call Newt Scamander’s, his best friend’s little brother, eyes dazzling. No. No, no, no. He was not about to cross that road; Theseus would probably hex him if he even tried to ask out his “precious baby brother.”

He wanted to leave and stop his senior aurors from getting distracted, but he couldn’t. His feet couldn’t seem to remember how to move, and he was suddenly aware of how everyone was staring at him, wondering if they should say anything.

“You have ten seconds to get back to work, or I’ll make you all rewrite your reports.”

He gave an inward sigh of relief at the sudden flurry of movement as his aurors returned to their jobs. Only Tina and Newt continued to observe him, with a mixture of sympathy and worry in their expressions. Newt’s cup of tea was still held tightly in his hands, smalls puffs of steam rising from the beverage and Tina’s own cup of coffee lay abandoned near a stack of papers on her desk that she wasn’t looking over.

As if sensing what he was thinking, Tina shook her head. “Newt’s not distracting me, Mr. Graves. These are just some permits I’ve filled out for him.”

As if to prove himself, Newt windlessly waved a piece of paper over and held it almost shyly between long fingers. Indeed, it was a permit for a creature, a nundu or… Merlin help them, another niffler. He couldn’t recall how many times in the past seven months since his rescue that the creature had found its way into his office, taking random heirlooms and trinkets before Newt would catch it and return the items back with a red hue spreading across his cheeks.

He didn’t mind, not really anyway. It gave him more reason to check up on his charms and make sure the greedy little thing didn’t find its way into his office anymore. It gave him more of a reason to see Newt anyway.

If he weren’t good at keeping his emotions in check, his face would have matched the pink that dusted Newt’s face as he continued to gaze at him with curiosity. MACUSA’s new Magizoologist had proven to be quite an asset to their department with the success of his book. He had been meaning to read it, but there was always something to do. A criminal to take to trial, another case that needed solving and truthfully, he was glad there was something to distract himself with.

_“You know, those aurors of yours really aren’t the brightest. Not a single one of them is suspicious. Really thought at least one of them would notice; you truly are quite forgettable.”_

There was an odd tingling at the back of his neck, a cold chill that ran down his spine. He felt his hand began to shake again and quickly, yet subtly, placed them both behind his back. Straightening his shoulders, avoiding the gaze that somehow managed to see right through him. “Carry on,” he nodded to all of them, suddenly wanting nothing more than to remove himself from their unwavering gazes of sympathy, worry, and worst of all, pity.

Turning on his heel, he made his way in the direction towards his office. People seemed to move out of his way, holding their files or whatever it was they were carrying close to their chests. Down the darkened halls that were beginning to match his mood, it grew quieter. Only a few other aurors and other officials stood in close together, speaking in hushed tones that obviously were to deter others from listening in. Honestly, he found himself thinking, if they wanted to gossip, they should do it in their offices.

His office had been the previous director’s office before his retirement four years ago, and had originally belonged to the director before him. Neatly on his shelf were various items that belonged to him or to MACUSA, and there was at least one photograph of his family there, stern faced despite the happy occasion that day, which was, if he recalled correctly, his eleventh birthday. Then there were folders neatly stacked and labeled in the cabinets and he glowered. Grindelwald hadn’t even bothered to keep his things organized, leaving his filing system a complete disaster that had to be redone.

He sighed, now suddenly remembering that he hadn’t gotten his second cup of coffee for that morning. However, he wasn’t ready to go back out there, so he would have to tough it out for a while. The quiet of his office was unnerving, and for a moment, he regretted adding a silencing charm over the room. It was true, he preferred to work in silence, but now it was like an unwanted stranger. Months of silence, of darkness in his own watch had made it practically unbearable. He never thought he would miss the chatter and occasional laugh, the familiar sounds of his co-workers’ voices.

He shook his head to clear those thoughts, returning to his seat to look back at the case at hand. Another instance of No-mag child trafficking had struck again, only two months after they shut down the ring. Both Ashwood and Patel were convinced that it was the same group, the ones who escaped picking up where they left off. He could believe it; they didn’t actually catch the leader and he would be lying if he didn’t admit it was a bit personal.

Two weeks ago, No-Mag’s Mr. and Mrs. Mariano had awoken on Monday morning to find their only son, Michael, missing from his bed. Normally, MACUSA wouldn’t have bothered looking into it, but since the kidnapping matched the same way the others had months ago, they knew better this time around. He suspected they were reestablishing their ranks, though the biggest clue and indicator that this was not a normal case was the symbol painted on Michael Mariano’s wall. A triangle with a circle and a line inside. Grindelwald sign. 

And now, another face was printed next to the Mariano’s boy. Alice Fitzgerald, a six-year-old No-Mag from Queens, had gone missing as well with the same insignia painted in the place where she had been kidnapped.

So, he would not lie and say this was not personal. He was not typically a vengeful man, but ever since Grindelwald’s escape only three days after being arrested and the resurgence of the traffickers, well, it was needless to say he was in a particularly foul mood.

There was a knock on his door that pulled him from his thoughts and immediately he windlessly opened the door. Appearing almost shy, Newt Scamander stood in the doorway with a white ceramic mug in his hands. “Can I come in, Mr. Graves?” he asked politely, allowing a soft smile on his face.

“Of course.”

He nodded as Newt stepped in with quiet yet deliberate footsteps. Newt set the cup down on his desk, keeping his gaze momentarily on the steam rising from what he assumed was supposed to be coffee. Instead of the rich deep black it normally was, the contents in the cup was thin and light colored, like soup. Newt flushed. “I’ve never really made coffee before; I don’t drink it. But you looked like you wanted some and Mr. O’Malley took the last bit from the pot, so I thought I would make a new one.”

He watched in concealed amusement at the Magizoologist’s rambling, and graciously took the cup from the table. “Thank you,” he said, and he did mean it. The man who, despite his quirks, had to be one of the kindest people he had ever met. A rare type of person whom you only meet once in your life, or so his mother had told him. “I admit, I’m not much of a tea drinker myself.”

Newt’s shy smile relaxed. “Most Americans I’ve met aren’t.”

A silence descended upon his office, neither uncomfortable or pleasant. Just that same, nerve wracking silence that made his heart rate pick up. He was aware of those robin’s egg blue eyes studying him, and if it were not for Newt’s kind nature, he might have felt a bit more intruded upon. “Are you alright, Mr. Graves?”  he asked, with an air of caution in his tone. “You seem more distracted as of late.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he brushed him off quickly, which, only resulted in a frown that clearly indicated that Newt was not entirely convinced. He sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. “Please, do not trouble yourself Mr. Scamander. There’s more important things for you to worry about.”

“You’re no less important,” Newt said softly, but firmly. “And please, Newt is just fine.”

“Alright then, Newt,” he leaned forward, setting the cup back down after taking a small sip and somehow managing to hide the look of discomfort from the Brit. “There is no need to be so formal here in my office. You may call me Percival, if you wish.”

Newt nods, and he followed the blue gaze to the small stack of papers on his desk. The images of the two most recent kidnappings. Newt frowned. “Those two, the two muggle children, they went missing recently, yes?”

Newt hadn’t been there during the raid, but if he had, then the memories of what they found would keep him up for days as well. “Yes,” he confirmed. “From the same type of families. Low-income, different races, anyone who most no-mag’s could care less about.”

“Tina mentioned a symbol; Grindelwald’s,” Newt began. “Can I see?”

“The case doesn’t involve creatures,” he only watched as Newt sorted through the papers with an unreadable expression. He stared back at the cooling cup of coffee, Newt still looking at the symbol with narrowed eyes. “They should be rather easy to catch this time; their pattern hasn’t changed.”

“I don’t recall Grindelwald specifically going after no-mag children,” Newt pondered thoughtfully, fingers lightly tapping against the dark wooden surface of his desk. “There is nothing to gain from the murders of innocent children except…” he trailed off uncomfortably.

He didn’t to finish his statement; he knew exactly what the British wizard was thinking. While unpleasant, it wasn’t an uncommon move for adversaries to go after children on the opposing side of a conflict. Or the unintentional victims during violence. Originally, he believed that the dark wizard had considered them useless in terms of his plans, but he was clearly mistaken. And because of that mistake, many lives had been lost and ruined.

“You attended the funeral of that no-mag child, didn’t you?” Newt inquired softly, prodding carefully at an already painful subject matter. The look the redhead received made the younger wizard flush a bit more. “Sorry, I don’t mean to intrude on your business. It’s just, I was there too and happened to see you.”

“Really,” he blinked once, a million questions running through his mind. The most notable being: How did he not notice Newt Scamander? “I didn’t see you there.”

Newt shook his head. “I didn’t stay for very long; I don’t do well at funerals.”

It had been quite the funeral as well. Any funeral was a somber occasion, but this one was almost unbearable to sit through. The no-mag’s didn’t notice him there due to his ‘Notice me not’ charm, so he was able to go about undetected. Both Mr. and Mrs. Farwell were besides themselves at their only daughter. When they lowered the small white coffin into the ground, all that could be heard were the wails coming from the now childless-mother. He could barely sleep at night without hearing those sobs.

“I am sorry, though,” Newt began once more, folding his hands across the light brown material of his vest. “That you and the others had to witness something like that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Newt, we are trained aurors. It is our duty to live in a world full of darkness so that these things don’t happen again. We knew what we were getting the moment we decided our careers.”

“None the less, I am sorry,” Newt continued gently. “That these things have happened.”

“Not like they’re you’re fault,” he attempted a smile in hopes of lightening the already tense filled room. “There’s no need to concern yourself with cases like these. You already have to deal with the witches and wizards who have no respect for creatures.”

Newt regarded him solemnly. “We all deserve the same amount of respect as the person next to us. Magic or not, beast or human, we all live together so all this animosity is pointless.”

He cracked a smile at that. “Not sure everyone would agree with you, misguided as some opinion appear to be.”

He was pleasantly surprised when Newt smiled back. “I think you would be right on that.”

He watched as those blue eyes looked over to the bookshelves, landing on the old photograph. “Is that you?” he asked, looking at the image of a boy holding his acceptance letter to Illvermorny with a small smile while a little girl with long black pigtails hung on his arm.

“My eleventh birthday, and the day I happened to receive my acceptance letter,” he answered back easily, leaning into his chair. At Newt’s somewhat incredulous look at his parents’ solemn expression, it took everything he had not to grin. “My parents were happy that day, I promise you.”

“And I am guessing that the girl is your sister?”

“Gracia,” he replied and made a mental note to give his younger sister a call. “My younger sister.”

“I don’t think Theseus ever mentioned you having a younger sister.”

Theseus was one of the few people outside of MACUSA and Illvermorny to know much about his family. Not that he was ashamed of his little sister; quite the opposite, actually, but the less was known about his relationship with his family, the better.

_“Maybe I should go to precious Gracia’s house and have a little fun, hm? Listening to her scream and cry while she looks up at the face of her beloved older brother fucking her.”_

“Percival?”

He was thankful for Newt’s voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “Yes?” he cleared his throat, pretending not to notice that look of worry and sighed. “Newt, I promise I am fine.”

Newt, in turn, did not look convinced but otherwise said nothing. The once peaceful atmosphere had become tense once more and he noticed Newt twitch slightly, clearly uncomfortable and avoiding eye contact with him. “So,” he started and Newt’s attention was his once more. “The rest of your family, aside from Theseus, are in England, yes?”

Now that got a reaction and he immediately noticed the way the younger wizard’s face set in a hard line. Those blue eyes appeared far away, as though thinking of the people he had left behind across the ocean. “Yes,” Newt finally answered, as if he had been thinking on how he was going to give his answer to Percival’s question. “They, ah, live in England.”

Ah, he finally realized he had found a sore spot and made a quick note not to bring it up again. Whatever Newt’s grievances with his family were, it was not his business to pry. It was no secret to him that Newt was the “black sheep” of the family. From what he had read in Theseus’ letters, Mr. and Mrs. Scamander had been less than pleased with Newt’s expulsion from Hogwarts and current life decisions. He could understand, somewhat. He sympathized with Theseus, for his own sister was so unlike the rest of the family. Ever since childhood, she had been a smiling, bright ray of sunshine contrasting with the rest of their somber, stone-like faces.

And said ray of sunshine had slapped Grindelwald across the face when she was notified they had found him locked in his own pocket watch.

As he was trying hard not to think about those months kept in his own watch, the door to his office was immediately flung open. Auror Patel stormed in, wand in hand and wide eyed with a few strands of her dark hair loose from the hair pins. A crumpled note was clutched in her hand, which was shaking ever so slightly. “Director Graves!” she pushed past Newt, who immediately stepped into the background the minute she had entered. “We…we got something a few minutes ago!”

“What?” he asked, intrigued and concerned at how pale her face had become.

She placed the note on his desk, staring at it as though it would catch on fire and somehow injure her in the process. “It came to our office a few minutes ago, with only an address from where it had come from and blank letter. Ashwood revealed what was inside, and began to read it out loud to me when he suddenly stopped. Went as pale as your coffee cup, sir and just took off. Not a word to me, just immediately ran out.”

He took the note, holding it carefully, looking for any other enchantments that could have been placed. On the outside of the note was a single address, and the hand writing on the note itself was all loops and spirals. fancy handwriting of someone of status and experience with writing.

_I know your secret. They’re lovely, by the way. I commend you on being able to hide them for so long. You know where to find me._

_Anonymous_

 He turned the note over again in his hand, narrowing his eyes. “And you said he just ran out? No reason at all?” he looked at the address written down, the reminder suddenly switching on. He could have sworn the man had a different address, but then again, it wasn't as though he had been to his house before. 

Patel nodded, but even she looked doubtful. “I think it is?” 

Well, he mused to himself, his robes moving from across his room and covering his body. At least it wouldn’t be an entirely uneventful day and it was an actual excuse to leave his office and not see those pitying expressions, then he was almost glad. Almost being the keyword, seeing as how much trouble Ashwood could be in.

He spent half a year in his pocket watch protecting his aurors the best he could. He wasn’t about to fail them now. He strolled out of his office quickly, Patel and Newt practically on his heels. “Goldstein, O’Malley, come with me,” he stood by their desks for a brief moment the second he stepped into the senior auror department. Tina looked up immediately from whatever she was typing and the somewhat indignant expression on O’Malley’s face told him that he just inadvertently cockblocked him from doing his secretary, Amanda Weaver, later on.

“And just where are we going, Percy?” O’Malley grinned at the childish nickname, one that for some reason, stuck ever since their time at Illvermorny. He then looked around, as if somehow just realizing that one of their own was gone. “Hey, where’s Ashwood?”

“Maybe you would have noticed him leave if you weren’t so busy chatting up Amanda.” Patel said dryly, giving him a side glare.

He ignored them, their somewhat childish banter falling deaf on his ears. From a little bit behind him, he could feel Newt’s magic brush up against his own. Gentle, much like the former Hufflepuff but still as unyielding as the younger wizard’s loyalty towards his creatures and friends. He frowned slightly at this. Newt Scamander was…odd, but he would agree with anyone else who knew the young man that he certainly left an impression.

It suddenly occurred to him. “Scamander,” he glanced back towards the magizoologist. “This isn’t in your department, if memory serves me right.”

Newt, though with a slight flush, only looks at him with a small look of what he dared called stubbornness. The same look Theseus had during the war and even still had afterwards. The two brothers were more alike than they thought. “It could be related to a case of my own; we don’t know who wrote that note or why, so it very well could be about an animal trafficking ring I’m currently looking into with Tina.”

When he looked towards Tina for conformation, she merely nodded wordlessly.

He didn’t say anything else on the matter, and they exited MACUSA with silence. Apparition never took long once they reached the point they were able to, and in a single moment, he found himself staring at a two-story brick stone townhouse. In a no-mag neighborhood, no less and a sudden feeling of foreboding fell like a shadow across his mind. On the outside, it appeared to be a normal house.

“This isn’t Ashwood’s house,” Patel frowned suspiciously as she tucked a few strands of inky black hair into her hair pins. She looked around, glancing at the sleepy neighborhood. “This is an entire no-mag neighborhood. Are you sure this is the right address?”

“Yes,” he responded, not even having to bother looking down at the crumpled-up piece of paper tucked away in his robes.  Wand in hand, he walked up the steps, murmuring a spell that checked for any wards.

“Someone’s been here,” he called back to the other four, hand resting on the unlocked door. “The wards protecting this place have been deactivated.”

He was instantly met with the metallic, sickly sweet, scent of blood assaulting his nose. In his ears, rang a cold laugh.

_“Don’t die on me now, Mr. Graves. We’re just getting started.”_


	2. Corrode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and the others find unpleasant things in the house. A break in the case leads to quickly building tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at chapter summaries. However, thank you to those who left a kudo, commented and/or bookmarked! I can't wait to hear more feedback as this story continues on wards! 
> 
> On a positive note, finals are done (woot woot) and I can relax before I head to Merida in January!

The first time he saw blood, was when the school bully had pushed him so hard, he scrapped his knee on the dirt ground below.

It was the last day of school before the summer holidays and Theseus had returned from his second year at Hogwarts. He remembered being so excited, that he was uncharacteristically chatty and for whatever reason, that irritated the school bully whose name had escaped him. That resulted in a confrontation on the playground and Theseus chasing the bullies off with some unsavory words he dared not repeat.

Theseus had been…less than pleased, but that was expected. Newt had told him about the bullies and Theseus must have had enough since he chased them for quite a while. He stormed back to where Newt was lying on the ground, grumbling as he drew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the spot on his knee where the blood was beginning to clot.

“Honestly,” he muttered, but softened his voice at Newt’s sniffles. He tapped him on the nose with his forefinger, storm cloud eyes less angry than they were before. “Do go looking for trouble if I’m not there to protect you, little lizard.”

Then Theseus pulled him onto his back, hooking his arms underneath his knees and carried him home, telling him about his year at Hogwarts and the shenanigans he and his fellow Gryffindor’s got in.

Of course, that had been a long time ago, and he was a grown man now who had seen more atrocities towards his fellow man and even worse, the creatures who had suffered from man’s negligence and cruelty.

This, however, he had not been prepared for.

He had survived the war, seen countless of men and dragons killed or injured. He had rescued and nurtured creatures who had been on the brink of death before he had found them. Some had died regardless of his efforts and others had recovered to the point one would have never guessed they had been in such a horrible position.

On the outside of the house, it appeared completely normal. A modest, yet well kept small front yard that belonged to a no-mag family, or so he assumed. As Percival, Tina and the other two aurors had a stunned look on their faces, he could tell that they were just as confused as he was. Why had Ashwood come here? If Patel was correct, and only no-mag’s lived here, then why…

His eyes met Percival’s briefly, a similar thought running through both their minds. Tina’s face had paled considerably and even O’Malley, talkative as he was, had gone unnervingly quiet. Patel muttered under her breath, and a flash of betrayal glossed over her dark eyes.

Percival wasted no time, his face impassive as a stone as he ventured inside the darkened house. The sickly-sweet smell of blood was everywhere, giving him the overwhelming impression that something very, very bad had happened and they had been perhaps a few minutes late from stopping whatever it was.

As he stood there in the corridor, he noticed along with the saccharine stench wafting about, there was another fragrance. One that didn’t fit in with the horrid smell, contrasting so much that his nose wrinkled in disgust. Fish, he recognized, and not only that, but other foods as well. Kimchi, and a heavy presence of soy sauce. Despite the heavy odor of blood, he knew these smells by heart. He’d had these foods before, about six years ago when he traveled to Korea and found Dougal nearly snatched away by poachers.

He had only been there for two months, before Theseus sent him a very loud and obnoxious howler demanding that he return home at once before he arrived in Busan himself to take him back to London. Needless to say, he did return, but with a lifelong friend safely tucked away in his case and a resolve to further understand the nature of demiguises.

Of course, that seemed far away now and he had been much, much younger than. The smells of food brought him back from a seemingly distant past and back to the present situation at hand. The minute he stepped foot into the parlor, he noticed the body.

The parlor was beautiful, yet modest in its appearance. With its light green wallpaper and well-kept furniture, it appeared to be rather cozy. Yet, the warmth that had once filled this room was gone as he rushed over to the woman lying on the floor in front of the fire place.

She was young, though not far from his age by the looks of her. Despite her modest clothing, she was far from what many people, he supposed, would call ugly. He knew what Muggles thought about people with different ethnicities, especially in America. This woman, with her Korean heritage, had probably never been considered beautiful by American standards. Her eyes, though clouded in death, were a very dark brown that most would ignorantly call black. He brought a hand up, gently closing her unseeing eyes just as Percival walked in.

The auror didn’t even have to ask the question, merely nodding. “How long?” Percival asked instead, eying the deceased woman with a soft look of what he dared called sympathy.

“Not long,” he responded, laying the woman’s hands down on her chest gently. “I’d say ten, perhaps fifteen minutes at best.”

He looked down to her once more and his heart jumped straight up into his throat. Her body, though slightly on the thinner side, had a definite roundness in her stomach. A momentary flash of anger coursed through his body, sadness following not far behind. He tore his eyes away, biting his lip fiercely. “She was pregnant,” he said softly, but still loud enough for Percival to hear. The man stiffened, and though it disappeared as soon as it arrived, he had seen rage in those piercing gray eyes. Newt looked back towards the dead woman. “What about Ashwood?”

Percival’s lips tightened into a thin line. “He’s dead too. Found him upstairs. They used the killing curse on him.”

Percival leaned down, taking one of the woman’s hands into his own. He closed his eyes, searching for something before opening them once more. “She was tortured before they finally killed her. Look at the markings on her arms; it’s the _Cruciatus_ curse.”

He instinctively felt his whole body tighten, the reminder of the immeasurable pain only a faint memory before now vivid. He hadn’t screamed, but it wasn’t called an unforgivable curse for no reason. Those who survived were scarred, both physically and mentally. Some, worse than others, to the point they were never sane again.

“Who would do this?” he found himself asking out loud, looking back to Percival. “She was a Muggle; no ties to magic whatsoever.”

Percival just looked grim. “She was his wife,” he pointed to a photo on the mantle piece. It showed Ashwood and the woman in a courtroom, the woman dressed in a simple white dress and Ashwood in Muggle clothing. “Looks like they had been married for a while; few years at best. Picquery is not going to like the fact one of her aurors broke our law.”

Again, there was a hot flash of annoyance at the Americans’ view on no-mag-wizard relationships. “They must have really loved each other to defy the law like that,” he couldn’t help but admire and pity the two at the same time. He looked at the woman once more, noting the indentation on her head from most likely hitting the mantle piece on her way to the ground. Over where her right hand, a cutting knife lay discarded and he found a new sense of respect towards her. “She fought her attacker to save him.”

“ _I_ never said I agreed with the law,” Percival spoke suddenly, catching his attention. The soft manner in which he spoke sounded odd, but not entirely unpleasant. “But the law is the law and Ashwood knew this.”

At the moment Tina came into the room, wand clenched tightly in hand and eyeing the two of them warily. “O’Malley caught this man hiding in the attic. Apparently, Ashwood managed to injure him enough to prevent him from disapprating out of here.”

O’Malley staggered in, strong hand around the forearm of a bony man with a sharp face and stringy black hair. Patel had his other arm, wand pointed under his chin to dissuade him from an escape attempts. Percival stood up, the man in O’Malley and Patel’s grips shaking in fear the moment the auror’s eyes lay on him. Newt took notice of the stab wound in his arm, eying the abandoned knife near the woman’s body and quickly put the two together. “She stabbed you?” he asked before Percival could interrogate him.

The man’s look of fear momentarily faded. “The bitch was crazy,” he sneered. “Screaming at me in Chinese before stabbing me in the fucking arm.”

He uncharacteristically snapped at the man, glaring at him hotly. “She wasn’t Chinese, she was Korean. There may be a similarity in language, but there is a difference in certain aspects of their cultures.”

“Who the hell cares? They all look the same to me.”

For a moment, he thought Percival was going to punch the man. He saw his hand curl, muscles tightening, but only looked at the man in a stony manner. “Did you kill this woman and Auror upstairs?”

The man paled at Percival’s attention on him. “Why…why should I tell you?”

“You criminals all look the same to me,” Percival tapped the man on the chest with his wand lightly, a nonchalant look on his face. “Why should I have any qualms about killing you? An eye for an eye, no?”

If it were possible, the man paled even further. Percival sighed and lowered his wand. “What’s his name?” he asked Patel.

“Finnian Fischer, Director Graves.”

He nodded, returning those cold eyes to the man. “Mr. Fischer, you are under arrest by authority of MACUSA for double homicide of a no-mag and an Auror. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law…”

Newt wasn’t listening anymore, eyes slowly taking in the room and its furnishings. By the fire place, about ten feet away there was an altar. A _Jesa,_ he recognized. Even though his time in Korea had been brief, he knew what a traditional Korean memorial ceremony looked like. The family who had been kind enough to let him stay in their home invited him to partake in the ceremony as an active participant. The man whom he had traveled with had been one of the few friends he had made during the war, so the family was very gracious towards him.

Since Ashwood was Caucasian, it only made sense these were the woman’s parents. He didn’t know very much Korean, but he knew the writing to be different from the Chinese script. He couldn’t read anything on the stone, but that didn’t stop him from admiring the beauty in the woman’s work at honoring her parents.

His gaze wandered towards the mantel piece, noting the photographs lined up in a neat row. Next to the wedding photo, there was one of the woman again. Recently taken, as the date on the bottom left hand corner stated it had been taken two months ago. On the woman’s lap, there was a girl of about three years of age, smiling toothily up at the photography. A very young girl with a strong resemblance to her mother.

“Where’s the girl?” he asked, interrupting Percival as he was magically cuffed the man’s hands. Tina’s eyes met his in confusion and the pit of dread that had been rising in his stomach only increased. “Did any of you see a little girl? She’d probably look to be about three to four years old?”

“I didn’t see her,” Tina frowned worriedly. “I only found Ashwood’s body upstairs in the study.”

O’Malley shook his head. “Patel and I heard movement in the attic and found this bastard trying to escape out the window. We didn’t see a girl.”

He watched as the pale look on the man’s turn an ugly shade of green once Percival rounded on him once more. “Was there a girl?” he inquired sharply, in a tone that suggested that the man answer honestly or there would be even harsher consequences. “Was there a girl?” he asked again, a bit more icily.

The man gulped. “N…no.”

O’Malley’s grip tightened ever so slightly. “You might be let off easier if you’re honest, buddy. Not that a piece of shit like you deserves it.”

“You think I care about that?” the oily haired man spat, glaring at Graves before a twisted smile graced his lips. “If I go to jail, fine. If I’m executed, that’s fine too. If I die, it is for the greater good. For the betterment and freedom of wizard kind.”

Percival flinched. All of them noticed, and Newt’s eyes darted towards the twitch in his wand hand. The memory of that day, where the man had a faraway look in his eyes, hands shaking as the coffee spilled onto the floor. Lost in a different world until he suddenly snapped back into reality and broke the mug.

He didn’t go back to that place this time, though. He simply jabbed his wand into the criminal’s chest. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find her, through three drops of _Veritaserum_ or through your own memories, you won’t win. Grindelwald won’t win and we will find the girl. Either way, you lose. So, you might as well tell us where you took her.”

The man’s smirk faded and a scowl replaced it. “If I tell you, will I be executed?” he asked cowardly. “I promise you I didn’t kill the no-mag or that Auror. Those were my boss and associates.”

“Where is the girl? Tell us where she is, and we’ll see.”

He couldn’t tell if Percival had meant it or not, but the man nodded. “Same warehouse on the lower side of Harlem. The boss might be there; he might not be. I don’t even know what he looks like, but your Auror sure did.”

Percival took the information in quietly, motioning for O’Malley and Patel. “Take him back to MACUSA. Tell Picquery that we have a new lead on the case. Goldstein, I’m calling all aurors on duty. Let’s get this trafficking ring shut down for good. Scamander and I will stay here and get the place closed off until the Mediwitches get here.”

They disappeared quickly out of the town house, and he closed his eyes, hoping it was not too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! Comments are food for the soul!


	3. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The culprits are caught, and the victim found, but there is no comfort. The only thing left is the feeling of unease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry for not updating for two months! The holidays got busy and I was working pretty much everyday. As of January 21, I've been in Merida, Mexico for the past three weeks and won't be returning back to the states till May 4. So, updates won't be as frequent. Merida is beautiful, by the way, and I'm enjoying studying about the people here and Chinese.
> 
> I would have updated sooner, but as I was working on this chapter two weeks ago, my computer decided to update all of a sudden, and I was an idiot who forgot to save her work *sigh* and this isn't even my computer. It's my younger sister's and she didn't want to give it to me in the first place. Hopefully when I return to the states, I can buy a new laptop since mine when kaput over winter break. 
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please comment down below! Even if it's small, writers love hearing what our readers have to say!

The girl was a lot smaller than he imagined she would be.

Amidst the swarm of aurors and mediwitches, she looked like a wayward island surrounded by an endless ocean. Damp black hair stuck on her face, and despite the rain drizzling down on her pale form, she didn’t seem to pay any mind to it. People hurried around her, escorting the few other crying and shaking children wrapped in blankets back to MACUSA headquarters. Even with a blanket wrapped around her bare shoulders, he could see her shaking like a leaf. Even from giving orders and assessing what to be done about the two men they had easily captured, he couldn’t stop his gaze from wandering to where she stood on the sidewalk.

Storming into the warehouse had been easier than expected, even with a full team of aurors at his side. The two men guarding it had been taken completely off guard, not even having time to get their wands out before he and Tina easily managed to stupefy them. After inspecting the grounds for more dark wizards and witches, he came to the eerie conclusion that this had bene a setup.

Whoever had taken the girl to begin with wanted her to be found.

She had been tossed aside on the warehouse’s concrete floor, with a deep cut on the corner of her lip and a faraway look in her eyes. He had thought her to be dead for a moment, when he came to the chilling reminder of how they found him. Numb and painstakingly cold to everything around in that pocket watch. The way she looked up at him, full weariness and fear, whimpering when he reached out to pick her up.

The back half of the front of her dress had been crudely torn open, revealing her small shoulder blades all the way to her lower back. What he discovered next made him uncharacteristically nauseous, hands beginning to tremble. Carved into her back with ink, was a triangle with a straight line in the middle engulfed by a circle. The Deathly Hallows. Grindelwald.

 _“For the greater good”,_ he found himself thinking bitterly, pulled back to the present by the sound of Tina’s voice. He didn’t even hear her question, too busy observing the barefooted girl tuned out to everything around her.

“What was that?” he asked Tina, who pursed her lips into a thin line. He sighed, a hand running through his black hair. “Please repeat that again, Goldstein.”

Tina followed his gaze, allowing a brief expression of sadness to show before concealing it away. “I asked, what are we doing about the girl? With both her parents…” she didn’t need to finish her sentence, instead clearing her throat and asking a new one. “What are your orders?”

A flash of blue caught his eye, and the auburn curls stood out against the bleak misery of the crowd around. He watched silently as Newt kneeled to the girl’s eye level, even though she did not look up from whatever it was she was looking at on the ground.

“Hello, mind if I join you here?” he asked gently, softly enough that Percival needed to use a charm in order to hear him. The girl still did not look up, still fixated on whatever was on the ground. Even as the world continued to move around her, she stayed numb, frozen on the spot. Newt smiled comfortingly, standing close enough to her so that she could hear, but still giving her enough space. “My name is Newt Scamander. What’s yours?”

Calliope Ashwood, born February 16, 1923, daughter of Senior auror Seoirse Ashwood and his no-mag wife, Angela Ashwood. For the first time in a long time, he felt unsure on what to do. He didn’t like the sour feeling it left in his stomach, and he sympathized with the girl across the street. In one swift moment, her whole life had been ruined. Her childhood innocence that she would never again get back. Even with the blanket wrapped around her thin shoulders, she looked like a wayward leaf that would suddenly blow away.

Ashwood had been selfish, and he could admit that freely to himself. Saying that right now would be inappropriate, with how many work friends the deceased had who were cleaning the area up. Ashwood knew what he was getting into; he knew the law and the consequences that would follow if he broke it. Yet, he decided to anyway and now he, his wife and unborn child, were dead. Leaving a sad, shell shocked girl standing on the streets without anyone familiar to come get her.

He wasn’t sure, exactly, on what to do with a case like this. After what happened in the past, most of the American witches and wizards wanted nothing to do with no-mag’s. Perhaps there were cases like this before that had happened, but he couldn’t recall one. What were they to do with her? An owl had been sent to Ashwood’s family, but they hadn’t heard back from them yet. Angela’s parents had been immigrants and they died years ago during the Influenza epidemic of 1918. The girl had no one, and no place, to go to.

He looked around, watching as other aurors gave the girl mixed reactions. Some gazed at her with sympathy while others gave her looks of disgust. He wasn’t surprised; with the rise of the Second Salemers, there was no doubt in his mind that there were still those who still had their grievances against the no-mag population.

“It’s disgusting,” his ears picked up the appalled tone of one of the junior aurors, Louisa Roberts. She stood next to one of the other aurors, Marcus Endicott, a strand of her golden blonde hair coiled around her finger in a bored fashion. Her sharp blue gaze stared at the girl with contempt. “She shouldn’t even exist! What was Ashwood thinking? No-mag’s are bad enough, but to marry one? And procreate? It makes me sick!”

The junior auror’s voice carried across the street, and the tips of Calliope’s ears turned pink. Tina whipped around, Roberts and Endicott immediately closing their mouths underneath her sharp brown gaze. “Roberts, Endicott, why don’t you go help Patel’s team with the no-mag kids” Tina snapped, leaving no room argument. “Don’t just stand there, go!”

Glancing at each other quickly, the two junior aurors scurried away like dogs with their tails tucked between their legs before apparating away. Tina sighed, muttering something in the name of Deliverance Dane before turning to him again. “Director Graves, we can’t just leave here there the whole night,” she indicated towards Calliope, and he didn’t need to look back to the girl’s direction to know she was still looking at the ground. Tina pursed her lips tightly, eyebrows knitted in deep thought as she pondered through her next words. “I suppose we could take back to headquarters; she’d be better off in a hospital where people can look after her.”

He was about to agree when the flash of blue moved again. Newt said something to the girl; something he didn’t quite catch. He and Tina both watched with bewildered eyes as Newt removed his coat, draping it around her small shoulders. He then scooped her up carefully in his arms, resting her head on his shoulders as he carried her across the road to where they were standing.

The minute he was standing across from them, he noted the light in his eyes had grown firm. “I’ll be taking her in for the night,” his voice was steady, fully of authority that seemed almost unnatural coming from him. “The best thing for Calliope right now is to be somewhere safe and secure. She needs somewhere comfortable and well protected, so she can rest. We can figure out what to do tomorrow.”

He looked at the girl, her tired gaze meeting his own. He wanted to protest, argue that the hospital would be the best place for her, but those dark brown eyes stopped him. Heavy eyes, full of emotions that were being kept at bay by the shock that still held her body captive. It had been a long day for all of them; her especially. Waking up in the morning to have her parents and by the end of the night, left abandoned in a warehouse, an orphan.

_He woke up, and immediately was greeted by darkness. A deafening silence rang in his ears and as he blinked up towards the darkness, he still couldn’t think of where he was. Only that it was dark, and cold, and for the first time in a long time, he felt fear._

_Everything was fuzzy, buzzing around in his head like a swarm of moths. Nothing coherent was coming to mind, only that he had been talking to his sister through a mirror when there was a sudden bang. He’d gone outside to investigate when he…he…_

_He couldn’t remember. Only Gracia, the noise, and the bright light remained engraved into his mind. Everything else about his life, he remembered, ranging from his childhood to winning the war with Theseus the war hero by his side._

_A dark thought came to his mind, threatening to claw out like some sort of beast. What if no one knew he was gone? What if they had gone after Gracia, or his aurors? Pressing a hand to his temple, he roused himself to his feet, hand searching his coat for his…wait, where was his wand?_

_“Looking for this?”_

_He whirled around to see a very pale face smirking at him, his hair and mustache a bright shade of pale blonde that resembled snow. Yet his eyes, storm gray on the left and pitch black on the right. The man’s smirk only grew wider, revealing teeth far too bright and sinister to be considered friendly._

_“I’m so glad you’re here Mr. Graves. So sorry about this; getting you to comply with my plans would have been moot, so this was the next best option. Oh, where are my manners? My name is Gellert. Gellert Grindelwald.”_

_If this was hell, he knew he had just entered it and the likelihood of escaping was growing dim._

“Director Graves!”

Tina’s voice snapped him back to reality and he felt a rush of embarrassment crash over him like a wall of bricks. He kept his face cool, clearing his throat and maintain an air of calm that he didn’t necessarily feel at the moment. “Yes, Goldstein,” he nodded his head. “Please, repeat that.”

He had to tear his eyes away from her look of pity. That may not have been the correct word to use, but her eyes projected a strong aura of sympathy and concern. Much like Newt’s eyes, which stared at him like he wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out what.

“I said Mr. Scamander has the right idea,” she repeated, glancing over at her close friend and the child held carefully in his arms. He felt her magic, gentle but unyielding as it flowed through her and reached out towards him unknowingly. She smiled wanly. “He’ll stay at my place; I’ll make sure she stays safe till we figure out what to do.”

“Very well,” he nodded. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

If either of them had anything else to say, they could talk to him in the morning. He stepped away, walking briskly over to the portkey they’d set up after arriving and arresting the two wizards who had willingly surrendered after he and Tina knocked them to the ground.

He sighed, mostly to himself. He doubted he was even going to head home tonight, already picturing in his mind the amount of reports that needed filled out and filed, questioning the suspects to get a statement out. He could hear one of the mediwitches’ voice in his head, lecturing him to take it easy before he lost all his hair. Or worse.

Yet, there were things that needed to be done. What had happened here, at Ashwood’s house, couldn’t be overlooked. Still on his desk in his office, the letter that Ashwood had received remained. The only clue they had going for them. He scowled, desperately yearning for another cup of coffee. The note was the only physical evidence. They had three suspects and of course, the only remaining witness: Calliope.

A few apparations later and a short walk to his office didn’t leave him in a better mood. People seemed to move out his way like he was a storm approaching over the whole city.

His office hadn’t changed too drastically in the hours he’d been away. Minus the clock whose hands had changed as the hours ticked on and the now cold cup of coffee that Newt had made him, left forgotten in the whirl of events.

He sat down, running a hand over his face and took a deep breath. The clock on his wall read eleven fifty, though it felt like much longer had passed. There was a crick in his neck, shoulders tense by the amount of work and stress that had elevated in a mere few hours.

He scowled. Perhaps the mediwitch was right, maybe it was time to take a vacation. Except if anyone even heard the words “Percival Graves” and “vacation”, in the same sentence, their heads might explode.

That almost brought a smile to his lips, if not for the sound of his door opening suddenly. There was only one person who had access to his office, and if she was visiting now, it couldn’t be anything good.

Seraphina Picquery, despite the tired bags laying heavily under her eyes, looked just as radiant and powerful as ever.

“Director Graves,” she spoke with effortless calm, full of authority that went unchallenged. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw regret in her eyes, but it vanished as soon as it came. She stepped into his office, healed boots tapping loudly against the marble floor. “We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, more drama. I wonder what Seraphina and Percival will talk about? Probably nothing good. 
> 
> Calliope is a Greek name and is the name of one of the nine muses, the muse of epic poetry. Today, the name means "having a beautiful voice". 
> 
> Poor kid though, she's been through a lot and it's not going to get any easier.


	4. Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Tina take Calliope back to the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates! I've been busy, but here you go!

Home was a word he wasn’t quite used to using yet. Home was supposed to be a haven. It wasn't somewhere one would be scared to be at. It wasn't somewhere one would think of running from all the time. But he preferred his case. It felt safer than home. No one would attack him or his creatures. Nothing would hurt him. The ghosts of his past wouldn't hurt him there. There was still something about home that would take him back there every time he ran away. Each road he took led him back home. No place could feel better than home, though all that place had to offer him was fear, hurt, tears and scars.

Tina and Queenie’s home felt different. The apartment tucked away in the city was quite ordinary on the outside, with worn shutters and vines slithering up the edges of the brick walls. Inside was the gentle crackling of the hearth, chairs pulled inward to invite others towards warmth. He could almost hear the soothing music coming from the Victrola and smell the scents of strudel. A smile spread out across his face as he set his case down momentarily and adjusted the small blue bundle in his arms. 

He remembered he had to be quiet upon entering, less he be on the receiving end of Mrs. Esposito’s wrath. For a moment, he thought Calliope to be asleep, but the small tugging against the thin material of his shirt proved otherwise.

Tina glanced at him briefly, eyes quickly scanning the still girl in his arms. She hadn’t moved yet to slip past the wards on the building complex. “You must be tired,” she commented, eyes meeting his once more. There was still concern, the ever-present glimmer of worry reflecting in her deep brown eyes. “I can take her, if you want.”

From the small grip on his shirt tightening, he only smiled at his good friend tiredly. “It’s alright, Tina. I can manage.”

“I’ll take your case for you, then.”

She picked it up, and if he had any protests, they died before he could utter a single one. The apartment building was as quiet as a graveyard. He followed Tina quietly up the stairs, the other tenants in the building as quiet as mice scuttling about in the kitchen. Tina’s dark hair flowed about the end of her neck, brushing past the top of her shoulders. She had mentioned to him earlier about needing a haircut, but hardly having any time to do it. With the disappearance of Credence, Modesty, and the rest of the Second Salemers in general, Queenie had whispered to him that she spent many late nights in her office trying to hunt the remaining members all down.

He smiled wanly, reminding himself to later remind Tina to take a break. The image of Director Graves crossed his mind as well and he shook his head to free the thoughts from his mind. He wasn’t sure if telling the director to take a vacation was such a good idea. He’d heard fables from Tina, Queenie, and other aurors of those who had suggested that Percival Graves take a vacation.

“The only one,” O’Malley had stated in a mock form of seriousness when he had asked him about it one day. “To have ever survived saying that was President Picquery.”

If he were a fool, he might have believed that Graves had killed the aurors, but the mischievous smirk on O’Malley’s lips proved otherwise.

Tina tapped the door with her wand, quietly saying the password before it opened, letting in the sounds of soft jazz and the scents freshly prepared food. Queenie stood in the center of the parlor, wand out and adjusting the temperature of the fireplace with her wand. The crackling sound drowned out the small taps of rain hitting against the glass window panes.

 Lightening the bleak atmosphere, she smiled as they entered and tucked her wand away in the pocket of her soft pink dress. “Welcome back,” she gave Tina a quick hug before her blue gaze homed in on Calliope. “Oh goodness,” her lips pressed into a worried line as she rushed towards him. She peered curiously at the girl, who decided to then bury her face into his shoulder. “I have soup ready; she should at least eat something.”

He glanced at the grandfather lock in their parlor. Only a few minutes past eleven; much too late for a child this young to be up and about. Queenie was right, though, it was better for her to rest with a full stomach. Slowly, he kneeled to set Calliope down, making sure she was steady on her feet before removing his hands from her small shoulders. She stood very still next to him, almost as if she were glued to his side.

“Hey there honey,” Queenie smiled at her gently, speaking in a soft reassuring tone. “My name’s Queenie. Over there is my sister, Tina. Do you like soup? I made some soup for you if you would like.”

She moved forward to usher to the girl to the kitchen but Calliope instantly shrinked back, opting to hide behind his left leg.

Queenie only glanced at Tina, and he was suddenly felt both their gazes on him. He sighed, resting a hand on Calliope’s shoulder. “It’s okay; Queenie’s a friend. She won’t hurt you, and neither will Tina. How about we sit down and have some soup? Queenie’s cooking is really good, I promise.”

There was a brief pause before she nodded. She didn’t move until he offered his hand out, allowing him to lead her across the parlor to the small dining area. When he offered to remove his coat from her body, she stiffened once more, and her small fingers tightened around the blue material.

Perhaps he would need to buy a new coat? He smiled, shaking the thought away and sat down in the chair next to her. Queenie waved her wand once, her wrist twisting in a quick movement that lifted four bowls and plates from the cabinet next to the stove. He watched as Calliope’s eyes flickered with curiosity as the dinnerware was set in front of her, and he briefly pondered if she had ever seen magic before.

He quickly met Tina’s eyes, and knew she must have been thinking the same thing. Queenie seemed to pay no mind, concentrating on setting the bowl of mashed potatoes, chicken noodle soup, and freshly baked rolls down on the dining table.

He wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, though. The smell of blood from that house and the damp sewer water from the warehouse still clogged his nose. He had a feeling Calliope wasn’t very hungry either, for even when a serving a mashed potatoes and soup was put in her bowl, she didn’t even do so much as to lift her spoon.

She jumped when a soft rumble of thunder was heard, the rain now hitting the windows even harder. She bit her lip, grimacing at the pain from slightly tugging at the stiches that a mediwitch had given her once she had been evacuated from the warehouse.

Her eyes would always find a way back to him, he found himself noticing as he poured a little more soup into his bowl. He smiled softly at her, which promptly caused her to look away and continue to stare down at the food in front of her. After watching him eat, she finally picked up her spoon and gathered a small helping of potatoes.

He noticed Tina smiled as well, a sigh of relief escaping her as she buttered a roll. She turned to her sister thoughtfully. “I don’t think I have anything that’ll fit her. Do we still have some of our spare clothes from when we were younger?”

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” Queenie hummed, resting her chin briefly on her hands. “I’ll see if I have anything that might work for tonight. Her house is still a crime scene, right?”

Tina cleared her throat awkwardly. “Yes.”

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

The rest of their dinner was in silence, with only the scraping of silverware and the occasional rumble of thunder that could be heard. The child merely poked at her food with vague interest, only taking a few bites every now and then. It was better than nothing, he supposed, though he didn’t blame her for her loss of appetite. Even Tina only took a few bites, chewing the food mournfully as her eyes gazed off into the distance, the bags now very evident.

The girl couldn’t stay here forever, he thought to himself as he took a sip from his tea cup. He could look after her, with Tina and Queenie’s assistance, but he knew nothing of raising children. Creatures and children were two very different things. His mother and Theseus had more experience than he did, but he doubted that his older brother wanted to get involved in a case like this. Theseus had always been a bit, well, overbearing for reasons he never quite understood. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, something that seemed to flabbergast most people.

Theseus would probably try to talk him out of taking care of the girl, Percival as well. He could understand their reasoning, but while he was inexperienced, he knew what was best for her at the moment. Her whole world had been shattered in a single day and in the process, she had lost something she would never have again. He sympathized with her, knowing what it was like to be alone in a place where he wasn’t wanted.

A tugging on his shirt sleeve drew his attention away and back to the small dining table. Calliope had gotten up somewhere during his musings and was pulling very adamantly on his shirt sleeve. “Are you done eating?” he asked gently, receiving a nod from her. He pushed his chair back, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Are you tired?”

Again, she nodded.

“I’ll go see what I can find,” Queenie stood up with the gracefulness of a ballerina and waltzed out of the room, disappearing behind one of the doors. She was gone for several minutes, leaving the three of them to silence. When she finally returned, it was with some very long, white cotton night gown. She placed it into the child’s arms, indicating towards the direction she just came from. “You can get dressed in there. When you’re done, you can have my bed. Does that sound alright, honey?”

She still said nothing, which made the two sisters look at each other once more. Tina sighed, settling her spoon down and waved her wand once to gather up the dishes. The water in the sink turned on by itself, momentarily catching the girl’s attention before Queenie led her away towards her room.

The moment they were gone, Tina rounded on him. “She doesn’t say anything,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen cases where they’re quiet for this long.”

“She just lost her parents and was tortured by the very same people,” he smiled sadly, trying to push away the image of Percival carrying her out, her back open for all of them to see what those men had done to her. “She’s still in a state of shock, I think. I can’t say how long it will last.”

“None of the other kids we found had that symbol engraved into their skin, so why her?” Tina questioned out loud, fingers tapping against her chin in deep thought. Worry lines heavy around her eyes making her appear older than she looked. “I just don’t believe it’s solely based on the fact her father was an auror and her mother a no-mag.”

She brought up a point that had been stirring in the deep subconscious of his mind. Ashwood had hidden his secret very well, so well that the traffickers hadn’t noticed the first time around.

_“They’re lovely, by the way. I commend you on being able to hide them for so long. You know where to find me.”_

The note that still lay on Percival’s desk revealed so much, yet so little. Eloquent handwriting hiding in plain sight the secret of the case. Ashwood knew who this person was; had obviously spoken to them before. What was their connection? How had they known each other and had Calliope ever seen them?

“The girl’s not a no-mag,” Tina said softly after taking a long sip of her tea. She stared at the contents in the cup, the steam having long ago vanished. Her eyes wouldn’t meet his as she spoke, “You could sense it, couldn’t you? She has magic.”

“Yes, I know,” he could sense her magic from the moment Percival had carried her out of the warehouse. Her magic had been pulsating gently, like the tides of the ocean. Clean and soft, with the purity and innocence of a young child with little experience of the world. Hiding behind the facade, though, he could feel its power. Like the water, her magic was powerful, with enough force that crashed over him like an unrestrained tidal wave.

Illvermorny would hopefully have another great student to make them proud.

He eyed the case that had been left next to the couch, the reminder that he had to feed his creatures the only light on the bleak situation. He grasped the handle, laying it down on the ground to open it and when he was making his way down the ladder, a hand suddenly grabbed the light material of his shirt.

Calliope was staring at him, black hair pulled out of her face by one of Queenie’s ribbons. Her body was engulfed in a cream-colored night gown that was much too big for her, but she didn’t seem to care as her grip tightened. Queenie smiled apologetically. “She saw you getting in the case and jumped off the bed,” the blonde took her by the shoulder with a soft, delicate hand. “It’s okay, Calliope, Newt will be up with us in the morning.”

The girl shook the hand off her, fingers almost digging into his skin. He recognized the fear in her eyes glowing from unshed tears, the way her lower lip trembled ever so slightly. She was afraid, he realized abruptly. She was afraid, in a strange place that belonged to people she didn’t even know and for whatever reason that was unknown to him, she decided that he was her security blanket.

“It’s alright, Queenie,” he said reassuringly to his friend, stopping her from attempting to pull the child away. “She can stay in the case tonight.”

Tina raised an eyebrow at this. “Do you even have enough room in there?”

He gave her a shy, tentatively cheeky smile. “I’ll manage.”

He motioned for the girl to follow him down, making his way towards the bottom and waited for her. He worried, as he waited and watched as she took cautious steps down, that she would lose her footing and fall. The night gown really was too big and while he appreciated Queenie’s efforts at making quick adjustments for it, he wondered if it was at all possible to return to her home and get some of her clothes.

Was that even ethical? He’d have to ask Theseus or Percival.

The house had seen better days. Years ago, the white paint was a smooth unbroken layer and the window frames a brilliant white on top of new wood. Yet, as fifteen years went by since first acquiring the case, with no thought to maintenance had reduced it to the kind of place that any realtor would hate to list. No one else would want it, but it worked perfectly for him. Just enough space to house his workspace and tucked in a corner was his bed that he never bothered making. It was messy and chaotic, but he knew where everything was, so it fit his needs well.

She stood in the middle of the small room looking terribly out of place, peering curiously around his body to take a look at the creatures outside. He had to smile at that, rummaging through one of the cupboards above for an extra blanket. She shuffled past him to look out the open door, hand placed gingerly on the frame and eyes wide as she took in the sights. A few stopped what they were doing, the Dung beetles and the family of graphorns eagerly awaiting their meal stopped to stare back at her. Gazes flittering from her to him as if to suggest how incredulous they thought he was to bring her here.

He found what he was looking for, throwing it over his shoulder and moved to stand beside her, smiling encouragingly. “This is Calliope, she’s a friend of ours,” he added, giving them each a look that hopefully told them that she wasn’t a threat. “She’ll be staying here for an indefinite amount of time.”

A hand found their way to his and pulled on it lightly. She was looking towards the bed with a sleepy look, silently reminding him why she was down here. He gave a quick sigh, “Come on now,” he said to her serenely, leading her to where he usually slept. She hopped up on it, getting underneath the covers and staring up at him with an unreadable expression. He tucked her in, speaking to her quietly, “If you need anything, I’ll be here. I won’t leave you here alone, I promise. Sleep well.”

She snuggled underneath the blankets, eyelids heavy before they closed together. He stayed a few moments in the house, getting the creatures’ food ready but still listening as her breathing evened out. The ones outside still looked in her direction, obviously not knowing what to think quite yet. Much like how only last December when a certain muggle entered and instantly fell enchanted.

Of course, they liked Jacob now, he noted, and it was hard not to. The American baker enjoyed coming down to help him, or just sit and chat for a while. He was a great listener and like most Americans he’d met, they were not afraid to voice their opinions at any moment. Muggle or not, it was one thing they shared it common and it was a pity they couldn’t see past that.

Dougal stayed inside the house, gathering up herbs and other plants for the creatures who did not eat meat, yet his gaze still fell on the sleeping girl. He didn’t poke at her, or stare too long, he just merely observed her. Eventually he came out, eyes motioning back towards the house as if he were asking why she was there.

“Her parents were murdered,” he told the demiguise as he gingerly fed the occamys in their nest, keeping his vision on them so they wouldn’t accidentally bite off one of his fingers. Dougal only blinked at him once before his eyes retreated to looking at the house. He wiped his hands on his pants, grabbing the bucket for the mooncalves as he spoke, “We don’t know who did, or why. They took her, you see, but they made it too easy for us to find her. Whoever did this to her wanted her to be left alive.”

He suppressed the sudden chill that involuntarily crept its way down his spine. Dougal just stared at him, and with the way his eyes stared down at him, he knew exactly what the rare creature was thinking. “No, Dougal, I don’t think he had a part to play in it this time.”

Whatever was going on, it could wait. He grabbed an extra pillow and blanket the moment he was done feeding his friends, opting to set up a make-shift camp where Missy usually slept. She was busy sleeping in her pile of stolen gold, not even noticing him as he settled down. Up above it was dark, with the illusion of a moon and stars he’d created over time to give a resemblance to the outside world.

Staring at it, he fell asleep, mind heavy with deep thoughts that he managed to push away to corners of his mind…

_He dreamed of his childhood; of summers spent outside and winters that brought the delicate snow that laced the ground like powdered sugar on his mother’s ginger loaf. The happy years, before Theseus went off to Hogwarts and left him with a feeling of loneliness that could only be cured by being around the hippogriphs and studying the garden gnomes. In the seasons when Theseus was not home, he would explore as much as he could without getting caught by their parents. They worried more than most parents for reasons he didn’t quite know._

_There was a store in the old village where they lived that sold muggle candy as well as wizard’s. It didn’t cost a penny anymore, but it was all the same stuff to him. There were little hard sweets that tasted like soap, toffees and peppermint sticks that were kept in clean, ordinary jars. Then of course there was the wizard candy imported all the way from Honeydukes, where on rare occasions, they were permitted to get Acid pops, chocolate cauldrons, chocolate frogs or anything else their small hearts desired. They could only self-serve in little scoops to white paper bags and the walls were adorned with nostalgic black and white prints from decades ago._

_The frontage had been redesigned to look like a heritage building. The bay front window was broken into rectangles by a lattice of white wood and the door was a glossy cherry red. The owners, happy old married couple, still greeted everyone as “sir” or “ma ’m” regardless of blood status. It wasn’t a grand store like Honeydukes, but it still offered a homey vibe that was hard to find in some buildings._

_One summer day in July, they had been allowed to go. It was particularly hot, and Theseus had been given strict orders, “Look after Newton. Don’t let him cross the street on his own; hold his hand. And for the love of Merlin if he sees a stray dog or cat, don’t let him pet it!” To which Theseus nodded curtly, with every intention of listening to their well-meaning requests._

_His brother had just turned eleven and was very excited to go to Hogwarts. He received his letter in the mail a week ago and would not stop talking about it. His storm gray eyes were wild with excitement and although he had been happy, he clutched his older brother’s hand tighter with apprehension. He was a selfish boy, he thought to himself, wanting Theseus to stay at home with him and their parents. Not that he was ever going to tell his beloved older brother these thoughts, for Theseus would just get angry._

_They had decided to grab ice cream at the store one day, with Theseus having to wipe his face a few times like a mother hen regardless of his protests that he could do it himself. His older brother had huffed, muttering darkly under his breath about looking after his little brother and how he wasn’t going to be able to once he went to Hogwarts._

_The mood had shifted after that, with Theseus asking him about any new lawn gnome discoveries. It kept them occupied for another half hour, with his older brother looking at him with a patient smile. They decided to bring back a few more sweets, along with some cauldron cakes for their parents. He waited by the cherry red door, gazing out the window towards the people living out their daily lives. Theseus was in line, holding the little bags they’d filled up and talking with one of his schoolmates who was going to Hogwarts as well._

_Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something run by. A scruffy dog, with patches of matted fur and an injured leg, had settled outside the shop. It panted, blinking at watching the people who ignored it as they walked by. He glanced over at his brother carefully. Theseus was distracted, laughing at something his friend said. He wouldn’t mind terribly if he left for a few seconds, right? He would come right back, just as if he’d never left._

_He managed to sneak out the door right as another customer walked in, the bell attached ringing jovially. In his hand were the cauldron cakes Theseus had asked him to hold and he took one out, kneeling down to the dog’s eye level. “Here you go, doggy,” he grinned as the dog accepted the cake, tail wagging happily as it swallowed and then looked at him with expecting brown eyes. He smiled sadly at the pitiful creature. “I’m sorry, if I give you more, Thee will get angry with me.”_

_“I do believe that sweets are not good for dogs. Correct me if I am wrong, though.”_

_He jumped at the soft, foreign voice that sounded from behind him. He turned quickly, eyes widening at the cloaked figure standing across from him. He backed up, the dog whimpering slightly out of fear. He couldn’t see much of the man’s face, only the small quirk of his lips. “Hello there, little one. What’s your name?”_

_“Theseus…told me not to talk to strangers,” he backed up even further, avoiding the man’s gaze. Even though he still couldn’t see much, there was a nagging voice that told him to get away. The man chuckled as he stepped towards him. “Your brother is a smart boy. You should mind him more, Newton.”_

_He only swallowed and out of fear, the dog hobbled away. He looked over his shoulder, watching briefly as it limped away and when he returned his gaze back to the man, he found he was much closer. His body tensed, ready to take flight when a hand landed on his head. Long fingers gently massaged their way through his curls affectionately and he was met with the great impression that this man knew him. Question was, who was he? More importantly, how did he know his name?_

_He opened his mouth to ask the man only to find himself once again alone in front of the store. Most people who walked by ignored him, not even paying him a glance as he stared at the direction the man had been. The glossy red door burst open, revealing a very upset and worried Theseus. “Newton Artemis Fido Scamander!” the older boy hissed, setting their bags momentarily on the ground and resting his hands on his shoulders. “Where were you? What have I told you about wandering off? You had me worried sick!”_

_He felt bad, the guilt washing over him like rain. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, avoiding his brother’s stormy gaze. “There was a dog and…”_

_He couldn’t finish the last part of the sentence; he was sure Theseus would be even more angry with him, so he kept it to himself. Not that it went unnoticed by his older brother. “And what?” he asked, voice tense and his eyes hiding an emotion he couldn’t read._

_“And,” he cleared his throat, quickly coming up with an answer, “The dog was hurt, Thee! I wanted to-“_

_“There’s nothing you could have done for it,” Theseus sighed, but looked less angry than before. He took him by the hand, the other reaching for the small bags. “Come on, let’s go home.”_

Everything blurred, and the memory turned into a simple mist. He was left with a heart that thumped steadily in his chest. It was better, he supposed, than thinking about things that were painful. Yet he still felt like he was in a frigid steam room with every breath. His eyes flew open, landing on the makeshift stars in the sky. He wasn‘t sure what time it was, only that most of the creatures were sound asleep in their nests. He smiled as Missy cooed, gathering more treasure around her body as she slept. The soft noises made a smile turn his lips, and he closed his eyes once more to the peace.

Only to have them fly open at the sound of a scream.

He tumbled out of his make shift blanket, tripping over one of his mooncalves as every creature in the case woke up at the sudden sound. The scream wasn’t from one of the creatures, so that only left one other option as he stumbled into the small house. Calliope sat up in her bed, no longer screaming but crying quite loudly. Loud wailing sounds, like a newborn taking their first breath. He hurried over to her, taking a spot on the end of the bed and resting a hand on her shaking form. “Calliope,” he spoke firmly, yet gently. She was shaking, her face wet and blotchy with tears and her bottom lip quivered. Her eyes widened when she realized he was sitting next to her. She scooted closer to him, looking as though another sob would burst past her lips. “Calliope,” he spoke again, and she attached herself to him, small arms wrapping around him. The creatures poked their heads in the doorway and windows but made no move to enter. He rocked her back and forth, a calming technique his mother and Theseus used on him when he was her age. “It’s alright, you’re safe. You’re safe here, Calliope.”

She continued to shake like a leaf, tightening her arms. A sound broke out, soft and broken, allowing him the realization that she had spoken, “Mommy, Daddy,” she whispered, voice hoarse from the crying. “Where are they?”

“They’re gone,” he didn’t lie to her, even when fresh tears spilled down her pale cheeks. Lying to her wouldn’t do any good; nothing could bring them back. “But you’re here, and safe.”

“Hurts,” she whimpered, burying her face in his shirt.

“Is it your back?” he asked gently, to which she nodded. He smiled softly. “I can help. There’s an ointment that I can create to ease it. Would you like that?”

She nodded, removing her arms so he could get up and go to his work station. The balm only required a few simple ingredients that were easy enough to find in the house. He worked in silence, missing herbs and water together to form a paste. Completely aware of her dark brown gaze on him. He gave her a quick smile, noting that she had stopped crying though a few tears still fell down her face. It was good, he thought to himself, that she was speaking once more.

“The bad men,” she said so suddenly that he almost knocked over one of the vials on the bench. He tensed, eyes still staring at the opaque mixture in the bowl. She sniffled, arms wrapping around her knees. “They…they took Mommy away from me.”

“Director Graves has them in custody, they will not be going out into the streets ever again,” he assumed they would be given the death sentence and he tried not to think about his last experience in that room. He moved back towards the bed, setting the bowl on the table. “The men that took the lives of your parents will pay for their crimes. Can I see your back?”

He looked away as she undid the top buttons of the night gown, turning around on the bed so he could see her back. The symbol was huge, taking up most her back with the tip of the triangle nearing her shoulder blades. The ink would never leave her skin, forever leaving a reminder of what happened to her and her family.

Greater good indeed, he snorted. Around the ink were small red bumps, most likely causing the pain and leaving an angry red impression. It would heal in a few days, the paste helping, but the inked scar would last a lifetime. “Merlin’s beard,” he muttered softly, applying some of the paste on her back gently. She flinched from the stinging but said nothing. She, he grimly realized, had been through worse. “Sorry about the stinging; it shouldn’t hurt for much longer.”

She nodded, turning her head to observe him. She still looked tired, but her eyes were alive. A harrowing question burning in them as she asked, “When can I go home?”

Sadly, he did not have an answer to that question. He set the paste back down on the table and she began to button up the dress once more. He pressed his lips together in a thin line. “I don’t know,” he answered after a moment’s thought. She tucked herself back in the bed, a frown forming as she most likely tried to find a reason. “We’ll go into MACUSA later today and see what can be done, alright?”

“Okay.”

She turned her back to him, laying on her left side. He wanted to block out the quiet sniffles, but found he couldn’t as he stayed with her till she fell asleep once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Newt had an interesting childhood. So did Theseus.   
> This chapter took forever to write, but here you go. More angst coming up, so leave a comment!


	5. Shrouded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival and Picquery have a chat in her office, leading to unsavory questions and an uncertain future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello lovelies! Sorry for the delay; my summer has been busy and we're really short staffed at work, so I'm often working every single day. I will be returning to school in the next month for my senior year, so I'm going to be super busy once again *sigh* I can never catch a break! I hate my job, but I also really like having money to buy things. Not to mention writing this chapter was a pain in the ass. I'm mostly satisfied, but certain things I had to look up and something I wanted to add I'm not sure about because I don't know if it existed in this time period. 
> 
> Anywho, hope you enjoy and leave a comment! Comments are great for motivation!

Organized papers and files lay about on Picquery’s desk, a quill and ink pot next to an article she had been looking over before. The previous president’s office had been a drab sort of place he recalled, with little to no decoration aside from a few photos of his family and other important figures. Picquery’s office was like his, the same size and furnishing, but with mauve floral wallpaper that hinted at a feminine touch. The flower, the Cherokee rose, was a reminder of her home state of Georgia served as the only reminder of her southern roots. A single photograph of her and her mother when she was younger the only indication of how close she was to her family. There was a smaller photograph on her desk hidden from any outside view that was tucked away behind a quill pen holder, holding two photos of a man and a girl. Her husband and her daughter whom he had met before on a few occasions. The only two people he had ever seen her display a separate aspect of her personality; a smile and kindness reserved only for them.

It was certainly not shown for him at this moment. She sat at her desk with her hands laced together and her dark eyes staring straight into his. A cup of black tea let out small puffs of steam but was left ignored for the time being. She looked as tired as he did, and he wondered for a moment what was keeping her thoughts occupied, but knew now was not the time to ask. Amidst the papers was The _New York Ghost,_ and the image on it immediately drew him in.

There she was, the little girl, standing in the center of the page with a familiar coat wrapped around her. Newt stood next to her, a comforting hand on her shoulder as if he felt he could take the entire weight of the world off her shoulders.

“It was taken earlier this evening,” Picquery answered the unspoken question with a slightly drawl tone. “Apparently your team didn’t do such an extensive job to keep the press at bay.”

He ignored the not so subtle jab with a grimace, fingers lightly tapping the arm rest of his seat in thought. “The press would have gotten wind of the event regardless of our efforts,” he responded boldly, meeting her steely gaze. “The most important thing is we got the children out, obliviated, and returned to no-mag custody.”

“All of them?” and though her voice had lowered and hardened, there was a softness in her eyes that a select few would be able to dissert out. She had leaned forward, resting her chin momentarily on her individual ringed fingers. He didn’t have to answer that question either; she already knew and she sighed. “She’s in Goldstein’s custody, am I correct in that assumption?”

“Technically Scamander’s,” he amended, and she raised an eyebrow. He tactfully added on to that previous statement. “It was Mr. Scamander’s idea that she stay with him and Goldstein for the night. They-we, thought it would be best if she had some time away from all the chaos her father caused.”

She twisted the ring on her left ring finger, the golden wedding band twisting and casting a soft golden light to dance around on the table. She closed her eyes briefly, letting out another sigh and shook her head. “You should see what the press is saying; mind you, none of its good,” she added darkly, sliding the paper over to him. “One commentator, I believed mentioned, awful things about that little girl. Said something about sending her back to Korea.”

“As if she would have been able to go in this economy,” he muttered, taking the paper off the desk and opening the crisp off-white pages. The image of the girl had been forever ingrained into his memory, along with the tender look on Newt’s face as he draped the coat around her. He felt a sharp pang of sympathy go out towards her, an innocent victim caught up in a devastating turn of events. His eyes moved down the page, quickly absorbing the comments and opinions that already seemed to have collected in quite a large quantity.

They varied from sympathetic to downright atrocious, and he found it difficult to stomach the few comments that mentioned her impure blood heritage. Stating that indeed, she should be sent back to her mother’s family’s home country, or that she needed to be obliviated and left to her own devices. The most harrowing one had to be that her whole family should be ashamed; that they got what they deserved.

Despite this, she had felt so light in his arms. The warehouse hadn’t been in use since 1910 and the city had made no move to do anything with it. A quick “notice-me-not” charm and it was completely indistinguishable to the no-mag’s. The inside had been so dark, dimly lit with a few enchantments and tossed on the damp ground had been the girl. Staring at him with dark brown eyes that told him that somehow, she knew that she was alone in the world.

“You didn’t oblivate her,” it wasn’t a question, and Picquery’s voice had changed its timber to mild curiosity.

“No,” he responded curtly, purposefully avoiding her gaze. It was not entirely uncommon for other wizards to feel another’s magic. Some were gifted with this sensitivity, though few had ever been able of refining it. Albus Dumbledore, if he recalled correctly, had mastered this ability to the point of recognizing another’s magical signature. He recalled, albeit bitterly, that his own ability of this had been lost during his imprisonment. Through torture and experimentation, Grindelwald had nearly destroyed him. Would have left him to waste away in that pocket watch if it were not for his name and importance in the magical community.

Perhaps he felt like he was, at times, and then he would appear in a flash of blue. Robin’s egg blue eyes would find his and there would be a soft brush of something nourishing and calm, easing him into a sense of serenity. Grindelwald’s had been something forceful and heavy, like a dark oppression that suffocated him. The girl’s, though only feeling it for a moment, was raw and unrestrained with potential.

“She’s not a squib; she has magic,” he said after a pregnant pause. “Ashwood most likely knew this, and I doubt he expected Illvermorny to take her in.”

“Last time I heard, Hogwarts isn’t taking in any American students,” Picquery commented dryly before abruptly changing the nature of the discussion. “Anyway, we’ll get back on the child later. My question is how something like this was allowed to happen again?”

“We didn’t obtain every member into our custody,” he reminded her, an odd feeling of irritation causing him to grind his teeth. “However, I believe the nature of their work was different this time around.”

“Oh? How so?”

“They didn’t have Grindelwald’s mark back then,” he watched as she bristled at the very name, a similar sensation running through his blood as well. “And they made it almost too easy to find us. I suggest that this isn’t over with; they wanted us to find that girl.”

She frowned harder. “Other than going against everything Grindelwald stands for, not to mention a personal attack towards MACUSA, I ask what sets this girl apart from the other children. Why did they want us to find her?”

It’s a question that made him rack his brain for an answer, but was unable to come up with one. What Picquery stated was true; Grindelwald and his followers were not subtle in their attitudes towards no-mag’s and the nonsense of blood purity. He cleared his throat, running a hand over his face and sighed. “We need to do more investigating on that. In the meantime, have the Ashwood’s responded?”

“They won’t get here till tomorrow,” she responded quickly. “They’re upset, to say the least.”

“They didn’t even know they had a granddaughter,” he stated, shaking his head in pity. “How are they going to react?”

Picquery’s lips tightened in a way that suggested an answer he would rather not hear, but needed to anyway. “Ashwood came from one of the few pure blood families in the states. How do you think they’re going to react now that they know their youngest son married a no-mag woman?”

“I see.”

“If they don’t react well, there’s the matter of custody towards the girl. She’ll be placed under MACUSA protection until suitable arrangements can be found,” she said briskly, changing the focus of the subject back to the girl in once swift moment. “Aside from that, there’s something else we need to go over. It’s imperative to this case that we know exactly what happened.”

He held back the grimace. “You want to go through her memories.”

“As I said, we need to know if she has any other information. If Ashwood or his wife were still alive, it wouldn’t have to be this way. But she’s the only remaining witness and the sooner we have the memory, the better.”

“This is a child we’re talking about-“

“Don’t think for a second I’m not aware of that,” she interrupted sharply, an almost murderous gleam in her eye and her hands gripping her desk so tightly he could see her knuckles pale. “It’s uncomfortable, yes, I know, but if something like this were to happen again, we need to apprehend the one who is responsible.”

He felt tempted to sigh again, but refrained from doing so. “I can extract the memory and use the pensieve, but it’s risky. I don’t recall the last time we used it and…” he trailed off, finding no room in his heart to finish that sentence. Begrudgingly he had accepted that his magic skill was not the same as it had once been, but accepting it left him with a bitter feeling. “Otherwise, I can always get a legilimens to do it.”

“I imagine she’d be more cooperative if you or Mr. Scamander were to do it,” Picquery added quickly, though not as an afterthought. The firmness in her eyes had lessened, allowing for a split second of possible affection to seep through. “Ashwood would have had you do it.”

He caught a glimpse of heaviness hidden deeply, very deeply in her chocolate brown eyes. He could count off hand how many aurors he’d lost on numerous of cases and raids. He remembered them all, each man and woman who now had their photos framed on the wall outside, a reminder towards all who became aurors that these were the people who held the highest honor. Yet it was he or even Picquery who wrote the letters to the families when one of them died. Picquery couldn’t express how this affected her. She didn’t have the luxury of being emotional and had an image to uphold. The burden she, and the rest of them, bared with unwavering loyalty.

“You aren’t thinking of obliviating her, are you?” he asked abruptly, immensely uncomfortable with the silence that had befallen her office.

She kept her expression neutral, looking towards the tea cup as though it were the most unusual thing in the room. “Given any other circumstance, she would have to be. However, since you and the reports say she has magic, I’m not sure we can. I wrote to Illvermorny, asking if she had already been written in their book of incoming students, but I have not heard back yet.”

“Hm,” he shook his head. “It can wait; she’s only four.”

“Regardless, if we know now, we can at least have the information put away for the time being,” she countered evenly, the crinkling of a smile pulling at her lips. She leaned back her chair, scanning his body with a scrutinizing stare. “Percival, you should go home. You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine-“

She raised her eyes. “As president, I would say that if you’re this exhausted, you’re a liability. As your friend, however, I’m telling you to go home. It’s late, and I need you to at least have some rest for tomorrow.”

He bowed his head. “As you wish.”

Before he could even step out the door, her voice stopped him just as he was about to turn the handle. “Percival,” her voice cut through the thick silence. “That twitch…have you seen a mediwitch about that?”

“How?” he asked, but he didn’t need to. Of course, she knew; why wouldn’t she? One of the others must have informed her, or quite possibly she concluded this question from her own observations.

“That’s not important,” she stated firmly. “I would recommend-“

“Thanks,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “But I assure you that I’m fine. It’s nothing to worry about.”

From the look on her face, he knew full well she was calling him out on his bullshit. Tempting him to see how long he could keep it up.

He could only sigh for the umpteenth time that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now, we'll see Newt again in the next chapter (When I eventually get to it)

**Author's Note:**

> Graves, my son, I love you but I still need you to suffer. Same goes for you, Newt. 
> 
> Please leave a comment! I love hearing what you guys have to say (unless it's a flame, then I'd just delete it)
> 
> For whatever reason, the font I had typed the note in didn't transfer over and I'm too tired right now to fix it. If anyone knows how to fix it, please let me know


End file.
